


Sink Or Swim

by MissDrarryDawn



Series: The Hopes Of All Who Love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Care, F/M, Guilt, Happy ending though, Loss, Love, M/M, Mourning, Pain, Regret, So much angst, it has a happy ending i promise, please dont hate me, recovering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDrarryDawn/pseuds/MissDrarryDawn
Summary: No one could've survived that explosion.//Completed//Word count: 5.6k
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger
Series: The Hopes Of All Who Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783126
Comments: 28
Kudos: 181





	Sink Or Swim

**Author's Note:**

> the title abbreviated is S.O.S and the irony of that is lost on no one, trust me. (might've even done it on purpose)
> 
> NO I HAVEN'T DIED, WHAT A SHOCK RIGHT?  
> Sorry I disappeared for a while there guys, but I've been writing my own book, so I've focused my time on that, but I haven't forgotten about our dear old idiot sons. I have plans for them yet, don't you worry, I'm not abandoning yall just yet.
> 
> I apologize in advance for this abomination I have brought upon this cursed land, hehe—

No one could've survived that explosion.

Not even Harry Potter.

They never found his body.

Had to bury an empty coffin.

It's been a year now. Wizarding Britain hasn't recovered. Harry's friends haven't recovered.

Draco Malfoy hasn't recovered.

~

_It happened so quick—no one had seen it coming._

_Draco had set off the bomb when he reached into the room to rescue the little girl being held hostage. As he crossed the threshold, he alerted the sensors that started the bomb off from 3 minutes._

_Harry had been the first to realize—with only a minute to spare. By then the hostage was safe, but Harry and Draco were still searching the warehouse for the fiends. Harry had tuned into the soft ticking hiss with a great panic._

_Before Draco could blink, Harry had cast a lasso bind on him and had him flinging through the halls and towards the blasted down door they kicked in to enter. Draco had barely managed to call out in outrage when he was swung out into the open and crashing to the ground with a thud._

_The last thing he saw before the warehouse exploded was Harry running towards the entrance with wide eyes and parted lips._

_He didn't make it._

Draco woke up slowly—blinked the images from his eyes whilst he stared at his ceiling. His chest felt constricted, as if a weight lay upon it. He'd been having the same dream for a year now, it was always the same punishment on repeat. 

_**You set off the bomb.** _

Draco sat up in bed and stretched. He checked the time—almost time to get up anyways. Alright. He stood up and went to the bathroom to shower and piss.

**_You killed him._ **

After showering and dressing, he sat at his kitchen table and had some toast—though he didn't really taste it any. It was a mindless routine he followed each morning, for no reason at all it seemed. He dropped the piece of toast onto the plate when he realized his hands were trembling. Must be a draft somewhere.

**_It's your fault._ **

Draco stared through his window while he sat. The sun was slowly rising—chasing the night away. His chest still felt tight, his breaths came slow. Harry loves to watch the sunrise. It made him feel hopeful through a new day. Draco hoped he could watch it wherever he was now. He also hoped Harry would come back from wherever he went—it's been a year. It wasn't funny anymore.

**_He's not coming back._ **

~

Draco walked into the Ministry and rode the dingy lift to the DMLE, the edges of his vision blurred. The familiar tightness in his chest that had made its home there a year ago now twisted further as he stepped out onto the floor. The feeling was background noise now—whereas it had been _agony_ a year ago—a comfort almost. 

**_He won't be there._ **

Draco headed to the break room, strode right past his office, just like he did every morning. Harry wasn't coherent until he'd had some tea. And he was a lousy partner when he wasn't coherent, so Draco made him a cup every morning. It was as easy to follow as breathing—though Draco found breathing quite difficult at times. Only when he thought about Harry too long. Which was always. His chest shrunk further, pressing into his lungs.

**_He's dead._ **

Murmurs of the break room wavered over him as he walked towards the counters. He gripped the kettle and filled it with a muttered Aquamenti, then set it to boil. Harry has a favorite cup—an ugly, Gryffindor red, chipped old mug. Draco pulled it from a small drawer the Ministry installed for such commodities, and stared down at it for a discombobulated moment. What was he doing? Harry is—The soft hum of the kettle interrupted his thoughts and he set the cup down on the counter, a ragged exhale past his lips, then poured the water in. Finally, he dropped in two teabags of peppermint tea. It was disgusting, but Harry loves the strong flavor—it wakes him up and lights up his eyes in the softest of ways. 

**_You'll never see him again._ **

For a moment, Draco had to stop and brace himself on the counter, or he'd have spilled Harry's tea. He'd started trembling just like that morning. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to force it to stop. Force both to stop—his mind and his shaking. It took a minute for him to blink and reacquaint himself with his surroundings. The Ministry. Aurors. His job. Right. He picked up the cup and turned around to walk out, back to his office. There were eyes on him. He doesn't care. He rarely cares about much these days. They stared as he made his way out, as if they had _any_ idea of the hollow weight he carried around every day. 

He'd arrived before his new partner—as he always does. It was customary—Draco was always on time and Harry is always running a few minutes late. But wait—he didn't work with Harry anymore, because Harry is gone. He left one day—never told anyone where he was going or when he'd be back. Was that because he won't be? Draco didn't want to know.

**_He's gone because of you._ **

Draco lingered in the doorway for a moment too long. Harry's desk was all wrong. It was tidy and neat and organized—it wasn't right. Harry is messy and rugged and he never organizes anything. Draco always scolds him over it. Realizing he'd been standing there dumbly for Merlin knows how long, Draco walked into the office and placed the mug on Harry's desk, then placed it under stasis. Harry likes his tea scolding hot. He sat down behind his own desk and sank into his chair. There was a file waiting for him already. Draco picked it up and opened it to see what case he'd been assigned. 

He lost a couple of minutes to it, when he heard footsteps approaching. It must be Harry finally arriving. After another moment the door opened and—it wasn't Harry. Of course it wasn't. It was Ron—Draco's new partner, after Harry die—after Harry left.

**_Forever._ **

"Hello Draco." Ron nodded. He was rumpled and unshaven, his face pale and sunken in, skin almost completely concealed by all the ginger hair and beard encasing it. Ron's eyes flickered to the cup on his—Harry's—desk, and his shoulders drooped a bit.

"Hello Ron." Draco greeted in return—his own voice strange to him. He hadn't been speaking much lately. Usually, he found his words spinning around Harry constantly, but there was nothing to say about _that_ anymore.

Well, that wasn't true. There was so much to be said— _so much—_ Draco could scream himself hoarse before all the words ran out, but there was no one to listen. Ron couldn't bear it. Hermione even less so. Pansy plied him with false reassurances. The world certainly didn't care to listen. It kept fucking spinning, as if it had any _right—_

"What have we got today?" Ron asked as he sat down in Harry's chair.

"An old lady called in because the neighborhood kids trampled her garden again." Draco shrugged and passed Ron the file. Ron didn't even look at it, he just set it aside.

"Okay." Ron said, scratched at his beard. "Anything else?"

"No." Draco answered and retreated to the silence.

There wasn't much crime now that Harry is gone. Most criminals lost taste for the thrill of the chase when they realized that Harry Potter wouldn't be pursuing them. It seemed as though the Wizarding world just slowed to a crawl, quieted down. Draco didn't know whether he was glad at this or not. On one hand, it was good that the world knew what it'd lost and bowed, on the other, all these people that proclaimed to be pained over Harry's departure were fucking idiots. They hadn't the faintest clue—

"Let's go then." Ron's voice sounded as tired as Draco felt. Draco enjoyed spending time with Ron. They both love Harry—each in his own way—and it kills them both—each in his own way.

Draco nodded and rose to his feet, clasped his robes around his shoulders and followed Ron out the door.

~

Ron had been feeling as if ants were crawling under his skin every day and every night. He didn't know what to do with his days. He didn't know why fate hated him so much, taking two brothers from him in his one lifetime. He really deserved better than this, he mused bitterly as he got dressed in the morning.

He sighed, and shook his head. He shouldn't be bitter—Harry wouldn't want that for him.

The news had come to him through Draco. A hysterical, screaming Draco who fell off the edge of a complete breakdown after the warehouse exploded. 

He'd Apparated straight from the crime scene and into Ron's living room, tore down all the wards as he did so. It was Ron's day off—but that didn't matter.

_"Weasley, come with me right now! Harry is possibly fucking dead!" Draco had screamed, shaking from head to toe. "The place exploded—Harry was still inside—" He was sobbing his words more so than speaking them, though Ron was sure he wasn't aware._

_Ron had immediately grabbed him and Apparated back to the scene, in his pyjamas.  
_

_When they'd arrived, the place was burning and the fire department was hosing in jets of Aquamenti to extinguish the flames._

_"Stop! Wait—Harry Potter is in there!" Ron ran up to them and halted them, staring horrified at the crumpling building._

_They called for more Aurors on scene and dressed a few in specially crafted suits to run in and see if they can find Harry. Dead or alive._

_But they found nothing._

_"He's in there—He has to be—" Draco insisted through gritted teeth. "He's alive. I don't care, no, he has to be alive Weasley, he has to!" He kept rambling, completely disregarding the flow of Aurors and firefighters leaving the warehouse empty handed, with no Harry._

_Ron could just stare at the rising smoke in mute horror. His mind was simply unable to place a world, a life, with Harry dead. He wasn't—Couldn't be._

_He stood side by side with Draco Malfoy, their hearts in their throats as the warehouse fell apart while being searched for their Harry._

_Nothing. All they recovered was Harry's torn up, smoked Auror robe. But no Harry._

_No Harry._

_After the fire was extinguished, all that was left was the black charred structure of the warehouse. Even after everyone collected up and left, packed up the crime scene, Ron and Draco stood there in complete silence._

_They stood there as all the smoke slowly lifted and faded, and then Draco ran towards it, Ron in tow._

_They combed the entire charred remains, but it was pretty obviously fruitless. Harry wasn't there._

_"Malfoy—He's not here—" Ron had said through an onslaught of petrified tears._

_"No! He's not dead, he's not fucking dead. He could've gotten out somehow dammit! He could be out there somewhere, Weasley. It's possible, it's possible—right?" Draco fired back, voice giving out on him as he ended the sentence._

_Ron could just stare at him pitifully. If Harry was alive, if he got out, he'd have gone straight to Ron, or to Draco, or to Mungo's._

_But he was nowhere to be found._

_"Weasley, please, he could be alive—say something for fuck's sake!" Draco was in front of him and shaking him by the shoulders, his grip bruising._

_Ron blinked and focused his vision._

_"Harry's—" He couldn't finish the sentence. The word plastered to the walls of his throat, gagged him. He felt sick to his stomach, about ready to keel over and retch._

_Draco looked equally as gone. He was dirty and limping from the raid, his face marred with tears and grime. He'd gone hoarse with his screaming and yelling—he was wavering on his feet._

_"He can't be. Ron, he can't be." He kept muttering on a phased repeat._

_Ron took a breath—he breathed in smoke and char and coughed—catching hold of the situation they were in. It filtered through with a vengeance of a spike driving through his skull and down into his flesh. A fierce, splitting ache accompanied it—ratcheting into an unbearable fucking pain consuming him in waves—such sudden, brutal force._

_"Dead." Ron choked on the word as it fumbled out, a hand pressed to his mouth in horror of what he'd just said. How could he think that? Of course Harry wasn't dead. That wasn't possible—that boy had survived far worse than a meager explosion._

_He wasn't dead. Where was he though?_

_Ron became aware of the dried tears on his own face when he saw Draco's tear streaked face. He became aware of Draco's vice grip on his shoulders. He became aware of the low rumbling in the earth left behind by the magically enhanced explosion. He became aware of the air sticking to his skin. He was aware of everything around him._

_Aware of the reality Harry wasn't here._

_Aware that he'd never be here again._

_Aware of the fact he'd just lost something_ _he could never replace._

_Aware that he'd screamed into his hand and collapsed to his knees, dragging Draco down with him._

_Harry's dead._

_It went unspoken—the truth settled in their bones._

_The fire had burned him away._

Ron stopped dressing as the haunting memory flashed before his eyes. He grit his teeth as his skin prickled and itched. 

He resumed his routine, eager to get moving, to occupy himself—anything so he wouldn't think of the gaping void that Harry's death had burned through his life. It was so fucking _unfair_ that Ron wanted to find fate and break her nose—

The only reason he'd stayed sane is because he had Hermione's love to fall back on, just like she had his, and they grieved together, them, their entire family, they held together like troopers—because they had to.

They wouldn't of survived the loss otherwise.

And there were still things—there would always be, Ron knew, as he prepared to leave for work.

He'd still unconsciously buy two tickets to the Chudley Cannons games. Hermione would set up an extra seat at the table. Molly still cleaned Harry's room in the Burrow.

And it would always hurt when they realized what they'd done was an empty comfort to a faded solace. 

But they had each other to hold and cry when the storm raged.

And they'd be okay then. Ron was hopeful. He found peace in thoughts of Harry in a better place now, content and watching over his friends—wishing them the same. _One day._

He breathed deeply and left his home, headed to the Ministry.

~

After Harry's death, the entire Wizarding World was thrown askew. When they had his funeral—buried an empty coffin—half of London was there to send him off. The Ministry had nearly fallen apart, and everything had to be reorganized.

In the midst of that, Ron had been reassigned to be Draco's new partner. At the time they were both too raw and gone to really care about it much and worked together neutrally—barely ever noticed each other.

Ron hadn't known then—that Draco was in love with Harry—he couldn't understand why Draco had cracked in two after Harry, he couldn't understand anything about it. 

Until.

Until he walked into the office the first day, and found a cup of tea on his new—Harry's old—desk. 

He figured maybe Draco had brought it as some sort of olive branch? 

However, the moment he touched it, he found himself recoiling as a mild Stinger caught his fingers. He looked up enraged at Draco—who was gritting his teeth with wide eyes.

"That's not for you! It's for—" He lashed out, but then choked up and cut himself off.

All of Ron's outrage melted and his heart twisted.

"Oh Malfoy..." He muttered, but Draco just turned away and stared intensely at a blank spot on his desk as if it had savagely wronged him.

The relationship between them thawed after that, Ron had seen just how important Harry was to Draco, and finally understood. He knew it wasn't healthy or helpful to healing—but Ron allowed Draco to cling to any part of Harry's life that he could. He never touched the tea that waited there every morning, he didn't change the wards on Harry's flat. 

He couldn't bear to see what happened when something comes close to disrupting it again.

Smith had accidentally knocked Harry's favorite cup off the counter and it had fallen to the ground just as Draco had entered the break room to complete his ritual of making tea. Ron had been there early for once—and he watched the cup fall in slow motion in abject horror horror. 

Luckily, it didn't shatter, only chipped.

Goodness gracious, if it had shattered, Draco would have killed Smith.

As it was, the cup survived, and so did Smith. With a few minor injuries.

Draco had gotten suspended for a week for that outburst.

Ron didn't trust him not to do something stupid—so he set up an emergency line that would tip him off if Draco was under a lot of emotional duress at any given time.

Turns out he was smart to do that—because at 3 a.m _that_ night the line was fucking _ringing,_ and Ron had scrambled up out of bed and Flooed into Draco's apartment—where he found him standing on his balcony more than a little _drunk_ and leaning over it, staring intensely at the ground—as if he was judging if it was high enough.

Ron felt iced as he yanked Draco away. He would _not_ lose Harry then lose another friend _dammit._

It had been five months after Harry's passing at that point—Ron had found himself momentarily blinded by how he genuinely pegged Draco as a friend now—then not surprised at all. In the wake of the loss, clutching each other on their knees in the middle of the crumbling remains of Harry's demise, they'd grown blind to their past. What the hell was the point of it anymore?

Ron would forever loathe it took a death for them to see.

He'd never forget the empty look Draco had given him—he didn't even flinch when Ron had yelled at him about _what the hell he thought he was doing_ out of sheer fucking panic.

"It wasn't high enough anyways Ron." Was all that he'd said.

And it had frozen Ron on the spot—that his suspicions were confirmed.

So Ron let Draco grasp onto the last vestiges of memory that he could—but it wasn't healthy.

Draco was stuck in place. 

Ron saw how disconnected from everything he always was and he worried. It had become this cycle of Ron trying to interest Draco in his own life again and Draco just staring at him blankly as if he'd just declared Umbridge was pretty.

That was how most of their days went. 

The fucking rotten _scum_ that was responsible for Harry's death were never caught, and the overall decline in serious crime left the Aurors with little but the occasional petty theft or some vandalism to contend with.

The shift was horrendous—Ron had a hell of a time adjusting to a world where there wasn't some bullshit to deal with. He supposed he'd just accustomed to that—having grown up with Harry Potter. A pang of guilt struck Ron for even thinking that then—he mustn't ever speak ill of the dead. Especially not his best friend. 

_Gods,_ Ron missed him.

No one was ready for all the changes. Ron had grown out a beard—he couldn't look like the same Ron he'd been when Harry was alive, because he wasn't that Ron anymore. That had been just one of the many in a tidal wave.

_Sink or swim._

~

Ron walked into their office and found Draco there early as usual, reading over any given case of the day. He glanced at his desk—sure enough, there was a cup of tea there.

"Hello Draco." Ron nodded and greeted him. 

Draco looked up at him—almost— _surprised—_ like he'd been expecting someone else. Ron bit back a moan of pain.

"Hello Ron." The blonde said, speaking with a lost hollow edge in his voice.

"What have we got today?" Ron inquired and sat down. Draco sounded disinterested—he always sounded disinterested, in everything around him:

"An old lady called in because the neighborhood kids trampled her garden again."

Draco gave Ron the file, but Ron set it aside—just another boring old vandalism report. Go figure.

"Okay." He nodded. "Anything else?" Ron hoped beyond _hope_ that maybe Draco would lose the dazed, numb look in his eyes and start talking—about _anything._ Ron would be happy even if he started spouting off his Pureblood ancestral family tree.

No such luck.

"No." Draco simply stated, obviously not very inclined to say more.

"Let's go then." Ron muttered and stood, Draco following suit.

~

The old lady was very kind, Draco mused absentmindedly as he and Ron returned to the Ministry from her home. She seemed lonely though. Was Harry lonely wherever he was? Draco hoped not. He hoped Harry would return soon. Draco had been keeping his apartment clean—just in case. It would be no good if Harry came home to dust and cobwebs.

Speaking of, it was Friday. He has some tidying to do. When Harry came back—

**_He won't ever come back._ **

—he should have everything in place as he'd left it when he'd departed a year ago now.

**_What are you doing?_ **

"Draco." Ron's voice drew Draco's attention. Draco hummed in response.

"How about we go to the Leaky after work tonight, huh?" Ron asked, his smile soft and expectant.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed:

"Why?" What was the point of doing that? There was nothing for Draco there. Not anymore.

"Well, to relax and have some fun.." Ron chewed on his lip, ran a hand through his ginger hair.

"I'm busy tonight." Draco murmured. He considered placating Ron with a _'perhaps next time',_ but that would be folly, when there wouldn't be any next time.

"Draco..." Ron's voice changed, his sigh deepened and his stride slowed. A distant twinge of a once-familiar feeling panged Draco. 

"Don't you think it's time to—" Ron trailed off, as if he was looking for the right words. "...to let go?" 

"What?" It came out jagged and harsh, the question recoiling Draco far more than was perhaps normal. Let go? That was stupid. There was nothing to let go of—

**_There is. He's gone._ **

Harry wasn't gone forever, why would Draco be letting go of anything?

**_You idiot._ **

"Try to move on..." Ron explained patiently, a sad grimace on his features. "This isn't healthy.."

Draco stopped walking. He grew acutely aware of the tightness within him, how shallow he was breathing. 

**_It's your fault._ **

Ron was being unreasonable. 

**_You don't get to let go._ **

"There's nothing to move on from Ron. I'm fine." Draco explained, blinking dazedly at Ron. For a moment he felt as if he'd never seen the ginger before.

**_You'll pay for your sins._ **

Ron opened his mouth to say more, protest perhaps, but Draco shook his head and began walking again. The conversation was making him antsy and he didn't like it.

**_You'll pay for killing him._ **

Draco heard Ron sigh behind him and move to catch up.

He didn't bring it up again.

~

When their work day wrapped up, Draco made haste to leave. The day was tiring, mindless, just like all of them were nowadays. Besides, Draco didn't want to risk another exchange with Ron about matters that did not need discussion. 

Things were fine the way they were, if a little dull. And why shouldn't they be? It wasn't right to disregard that Harry had left and didn't intend to return, no, Draco wouldn't forget.

**_You don't get to forget._ **

As he made his way to Harry's apartment, his gait was slow. He'd been there every week since Harry left, yet every time it was just as harrowing to find the place bereft of its owner. He hoped that if he might walk slower, there would be more time for Harry to magically appear there.

**_He's dead._ **

"No." The word was quiet and lost to the breeze. It felt hollow on his lips now, from all the tired repetition it suffered.

**_Because of you._ **

Draco walked faster.

~

Stepping into Harry's apartment felt like a bubble popped through Draco's world. The haze that lead him through the week lifted and he was left with the bleak reality of an empty apartment.

Empty, because no one lived in it.

No one lived in it, because its owner had died.

Its owner had died because of Draco.

Draco leaned on the wall behind him and closed his eyes. It was odd how he hadn't accustomed to the sink yet.

**_You don't get to._ **

The blonde pushed away from the wall and wiped his burning eyes. He was here to keep the place for—Nevermind.

Draco liked to think of it as house-sitting. Harry would be back one day.

Slowly, he began his routine, that feeble comfort cocooning him away from the merciless truth. He dusted all the cobwebs and swept the floors. The air still smelled like Harry once did—Draco had so few things left of Harry, save one stained t-shirt Harry had forgotten at Draco's place one evening when they brought their paperwork to Draco's home to finish up, even the faint smell made him pause. Though he couldn't stop, everything had to be cleaned. Wiping down all of the copious picture frames always unraveled the knot that twisted inside Draco's chest tighter every day of the week—those pictures of Harry smiling and happy, reminders that Draco might never get to see him again, if he never comes back, made him wish to scream and tear his own hair out.

The tears didn't stop this time.

_Fuck._

~

Saturday morning found Draco in the silent graveyard where Harry's grave rested. He didn't bring flowers—he remembered that Harry told him he didn't want such fanfare when he di—left. 

The blonde stared down at the gravestone with empty eyes and a hollow heart. It was littered with gifts and flowers and cards, from the people who had no idea. Draco always vanished them with a flick of his wand—Harry didn't want this. 

**_Harry isn't here anymore to want anything at all._ **

Draco breathed slowly, and sat down upon the grave.

"Hello." He said, for a moment able to imagine that Harry was there in front of him, responding and smiling. A deep ache twisted within him. "How have you been, Harry?" The wind breezed past Draco, only response to his pointless questions. "I've been—" What to say though? How had he been? He'd say he was fine, yet it appeared as though Ron disagreed, based on what he said yesterday. Did it really matter?

**_You deserve it._ **

"—Well. I've been well." Draco nodded regardless, he knew Harry often worried excessively. That wouldn't do. "I miss you. So much." The blonde kept talking, losing track of time as he did so. It was late afternoon that Draco left and headed home.

~

When Draco walked into his living room, he froze in spot, a cold tremor of terrible terror and shock rippling up his spine.

Harry stood there. In front of Draco. In the middle of Draco's living room.

_Harry stood there._

This—wasn't real. It couldn't be—Harry had _left_ , a _year_ ago. Draco was seeing things, finally lost his mind.

What?

_No._

Harry? Here? 

That's—It can't—

"This isn't real." Draco spoke the words into existence, his limbs growing shaky. "Harry left. This isn't _real."_

The not-real Harry stepped closer, but Draco took two steps backwards. This wasn't—

"It's not real, it can't be, it can't—" The more he repeated this to himself, the more the deep ache in his chest twisted and spread through the hollow between his ribs. Breathing became a physical pain. "It's not—Oh _God,_ why can't it be?" His eyes burned and everything was happening too quickly, he'd gone mad and Harry had left and this couldn't be real—

"Draco." Harry's voice was gentle, exactly as Draco remembered it had always been.

Draco couldn't—He—He really _couldn't_ deal with this—It couldn't be real, Harry had left, he'd—he'd _died—_

"Draco." Harry called again and took another step closer.

Draco dared open his eyes, feared the illusion would shatter once he faced his actually empty flat. But it didn't. Harry really stood there before him, looking nearly exactly like the day of the explosion. There's no _way—_ It _couldn't be real—_

"I'm alive Draco." Harry spoke, his brows furrowed and lips frowning.

Draco felt physically ill, like he could keel over any moment. He was _hallucinating—_ These were just images he desperately wished into existence—It wasn't _real—_

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed upon blacking out.

~

Ron startled that Saturday as the line holding between Draco's flat and his own began to ring and tug. 

_Shit._

What had Draco done?

Ron leaped out of his chair and startled Hermione, who took a glance at the line to realize what had happened. She nodded and they stepped into their Floo together, tumbling into Draco's living room, prepared for the worst.

They weren't ready for what they say.

Harry— _Harry—_ was _right there_ holding a passed out Draco in his arms.

Ron's vision swirled and blurred, Hermione just let loose a choked sob.

 _"Harry?"_ They whispered tentatively. 

He was looking at them, tears streaming down his face and a huge smile on his face:

"I'm alive." He spoke. _"I'm alive guys."_ He repeated, his voice joyous.

~

When Draco woke up, he felt groggy and confused. What happened? Wasn't he just getting home from visiting Harry? 

Harry—

Draco sat up as the memories played out in front of him. His stomach churned, he tasted acid spit on his tongue when the his head spun. 

Just as he was about ready to conclude none of it had been real and turn right back to his always plagued, restless sleep, the thing he was laying on shifted beneath him, and Draco found it incredibly odd, since such things as couches did not tend to be living.

"Hey, you're awake." Harry's voice spoke.

Draco smarted and looked around himself again. He was on his couch yes, but was half-splayed over—

Harry.

_Harry._

"What?" He couldn't help but splutter. 

It hadn't been real, earlier, why was Harry still here?

"Draco, I'm alive, I didn't die." Harry smiled as he gripped one of Draco's hands tight.

The touch was there, Draco could feel the abrasive grip clearly. It was solid, it couldn't have _not_ been real.

"Harry?" He murmured quietly as this notion of Harry back weaved through his broken doubt. 

"I'm here." Harry nodded and lifted Draco's hand, pressed it to his chest. "I'm back."

Beneath Draco's palm he could feel thumping. Rhythmic, steady thumps. A heartbeat. _Harry's heartbeat._

"Oh my _God—"_ The blonde's voice gave out on him as he gazed down at a very much alive Harry who was sitting by him, next to him, touching him, speaking—"What—What happened to you?" Draco huffed, his words barely a breath. Slow, hacked laughter made it through in puffs of air that he couldn't seem to help. 

Harry pressed Draco's palm flat on his chest and closed his eyes:

"The hostage and the explosion were diversions—so they could take me. It took me a year to escape, but now I'm back Draco, I didn't die." He explained, voice so quiet he nearly whispered his words.

Draco shook his head almost involuntarily, the hollow behind his ribs thrumming alive again and he couldn't _dare_ believe it to be true. That Harry had come back to him.

"You—you're back?" The blonde uttered fearfully, shifting closer to press into Harry, while he could, just in case, _just in case—_

"I'm back, Draco, I'm not going anywhere again." Harry promised and wrapped an arm around Draco, pulled him in closer, hugged him, held him and quietly laughed. "I missed you so much. I missed everyone." 

Draco pushed his nose against Harry's neck and huffed his words, a strange sense of wonder weighing his eyes shut, upon the touch and the conversation he never thought he'd get again:

"We missed you too, _fuck—"_

Harry chuckled quietly, settled more comfortably into the couch. 

"Oh Harry—" 

Draco heard a third voice murmur, it must've been Hermione as she settled in too, curling into Harry's other side as he hugged her as well.

"Welcome _back—"_

Oh, Ron was here too, and he must've been close around, his voice sounded near. Draco figured Hermione might've curled up in his lap. 

They fell asleep like that, essentially dog-piled.

How absolutely ridiculous they must've looked, cuddled up on a tiny couch that was much too cramped to fit four grown people. 

And yet, it was perfect.

~

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> you all...you all still love me...right?
> 
> Find more on my [Tumblr](https://missdrarrydawn.tumblr.com/)


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